Looking inside the Non-Traditional Literature World

Art by Arturo Garcia

Musicking, by Christopher Small: A non-traditional book review by Lynette Yetter

Why is it so hard to tell tales about the most pleasant moments of our lives? Don't we all desire to live peacefully in nature? Travel agencies market happiness with photos of cerulean seas lapping white-sand beaches. If this tranquility is truly our goal, why aren't more stories written about it?

"I just wish there were more story-like plots to the times when I just lived peacefully in nature, on the ground, eating berries, climbing mountains," Tantra Bensko said of her most recent autobiographical book-in-process, Mobile Mystery Spot.

Story-like plots. We are taught that stories should follow the three-act structure of rising tension to a climax and a resolution. However, Christopher Small argues in his book Musicking that the three-act structure (of symphonies and stories) is a male-construct of Western Industrialized Society to justify and reinforce the status quo.

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?

Small suggests that we continually ask the question, "What is going on here?" What is being expressed? What are the motivating factors, once we "read between the lines?"

The rising tension inherent in the three-act structure is justifying the aggression of Western Industrialized Society. Wars, invasions, conquests, massacres and corporate mergers of past and present are painted as being "normal" by being reinforced in the very structure of the music and stories that flood our senses. In other words, three-act structure is a way to brainwash the masses into believing that conflict is not only necessary, but also desirable.

This ignores our human tendency to try and avoid having "too much drama" in our lives. Bob Marley's "Don't worry, be happy," became a hit song because it resonates with this yearning to smile, bounce our feet with the beat and dance our joy to life's music.

MUSICKING

The word musicking, according to Small, is a verb that includes each and all aspects of the act of participating in music making: dancing, composing, performing, listening, selling recordings, designing the architecture of a symphony hall, creating a website for a ticket-selling agency who fills the seats of that symphony hall, humming in the shower, everything.

However, we tend to compartmentalize these activities and don't see them as part of a whole, because Western Industrialized Society is based on the philosophy of Rene Descartes. Centuries ago he conceptually cut humans off from nature. The individual he removed from the community. The mind he divided from the spirit that he severed from the body. The human body itself he separated into systems: muscles, blood, nerves, etc.

All this fragmentation makes it easier to control the masses for the benefit of the few. People no longer rely on their own wisdom and intuition, for it has been (theoretically) cut off from them. Instead, as Christopher Small writes, people defer to "experts." These "experts" can be scientists, newscasters, politicians, or famous "stars" of movies and music. The more famous a person is, the more respect he is given as an "expert," no matter what he says. The "expert" fills the role of a priest, mediating between people and a greater knowledge of life.

"Experts" get put on pedestals, or stages. In a symphony hall, Small points out; elite musicians enter from a hidden area onto an illuminated stage physically separate from the audience. The audience is comprised only of people who have enough money to buy an admission ticket. There are no windows in the symphony hall. The rest of the world is blotted out as if it did not exist and had no impact on the lives of the people partaking in the ritual of a three-act symphony.

Christopher Small critiques the classical music world for creating divisions among people, and we can see parallels in literature. Musical auditions and literary contests, ostensibly to "find new talent," are actually mechanisms for eliminating opportunities for the majority of people. The few "stars" that shine are not representative of talent, but of how any dedicated person can grow if given support and opportunity.

TALENTED PEOPLE ARE AS PROLIFIC AS ORCHIDS

Again and again, Small mentions an analogy that talented people are as numerous as orchids in the forest.

For me this orchid analogy was difficult to grasp. I grew up in Southern California where orchids were individually encased in a chilled plastic box until pinned on a prom date's dress.

However, once I hiked the Inka Trail through the cloud forest in the rainy season, I better understood the analogy. There were flowers everywhere, so many orchids blossoming in joyous profusion of color, forms and varieties.

These flowers don't need "rising tension to climax" to justify their existence. This is similar to the peacefulness Tantra experienced (climbing mountains and eating berries) that defies traditional three-act storytelling.

MALE FEMALE STORYTELLING

Three-act structure (as Small acknowledges) has an emotional arc similar to the male experience of the sex act.

What if literature is structured, not as male arousal/climax/resolution, but as a mother nursing her baby? This feminine literary structure could be more like a one-ness with nature, a celebration of life. This brings to mind the proposal, by Buddhist leader Daisaku Ikeda, that nursing mothers be the people to make the decisions of whether a country goes to war, or not.

I like imagining what it would be like to live in a world based on this peacefulness, like Tantra experienced in her mountain days.

INDIGENOUS MUSICKING

Storytelling and music-making of many indigenous cultures are based on experiencing the moment, reinforcing a sense of community. Christopher Small illustrates this with an example of how an entire community in Bali participates in the composition of gamelan music that is meant to be performed only once. Then a new piece is composed. Isn't that how life works? Each day, each moment is new, yet part of the eternal whole, the one-ness of life.

This one-ness I experience, here in the Andes, in the communal dialog performance of the autochthonous panpipes - the siku.

Inspired by my experiences of performing with Quechua and Aymara musicians, I wrote the novel Lucy Plays Panpipes for Peace. Christopher Small's Musicking deeply influenced the chapter "Lucy Plays with the Symphony."

In this chapter, Lucy believes that the egalitarian Andean Cosmovision would awaken Western-Industrialized-Society symphony audiences if only they were exposed to the sound of the panpipes.Quotes from Musicking I intermingled with the story.

"(An indigenous friend of Lucy's said,) 'We’re in Lima to record with the symphony! The panpipes are rising in esteem in society!

Come record with us!'

(Symphonies) and concert halls are expensive and can be afforded only, whether directly or indirectly, by the wealth generated by industrialization. C.S.

. . . She would do it. After all, it would be a dream-come-true.

Lucy's vision of the panpipes bringing peace to the world included playing the panpipes in symphonies; earthy mysticalness would influence Western society to be more in tune with nature.

...nature had to die and ourselves become split off from her before true science (and Western Industrialized Society with its symphonies) could be born. C.S."

To credit Christopher Small (and others), I added endnotes to this novel.

"But novels don't have endnotes!" you might be saying to yourself. That's right. A three-act-structure novel, that reinforces the Cartesian idea that everything is separate, does not have endnotes, for endnotes only belong in academic works.

As I followed Small's advice to ask "What is going on here?" I decided to create my own path of integration and one-ness. Perhaps this novel better fits in the new genre of Lucid fiction. For, Lucid fiction has its eyes wide open, and is not constrained by existing formats and beliefs.

Some people tell me that because I think this way, I am on the fringe.

FRINGE PEOPLE

Walt Whitman was a fringe writer. So was Emily Dickenson. Rejected by the literary lights of their day, they continued their unique creative paths each in their own way. Walt self-published and hawked his writings. The reclusive Emily stored her poetry in a trunk, to be enjoyed by future generations after her death.

Walt's work, poetry celebrating life in all its aspects (including the sexual), was claimed by some of his contemporaries to be pornography. But more than a century after his death his detractors have mainly disappeared into the mists of history, while his life and work are celebrated. The Soka Gakkai International (SGI), a lay Buddhist organization dedicated to peace through culture and education, recently erected a bronze statue to honor Walt Whitman.

Emily Dickenson's work is now studied in universities and her life is portrayed in an acclaimed one-woman play.

"Have confidence in your voice, in your vision," Walt and Emily seem to be telling us from beyond the grave. "Be proud of being on the 'fringe' as you tell your own stories in your own way."

Whitman and Dickenson probably would have enjoyed reading Christopher Small's Musicking and Tantra Bensko's upcoming-book Mobile Mystery Spot, as fellow authors expressing the wonder of life that can't fit in a box.

October 9 2011

&Now Festival of New Writing: Tomorrowland Forever from Tantra's perspective

I recently participated in the 5th festival of innovative writing, in San Diego this year, as well as the after-reading in Tihuana. Overall, I loved the event, and was thrilled to be able to go. It was organized by Amina Cain, whom I didn't meet, and Anna Joy Springer, who was delightful to interact with, and watch, and her unpretentious enthusiasm, welcoming warmth, and playfulness making me feel at home.

&Now began in 2004, begun by Steve Tomasula. 2011 pushed beyond into more theatricality, juxtaposition, and wider focus than before. There were always many intriguing panels at once for three long days straight through. Most of us stayed at the Sheraton, which wasn't an intuitive walk from the San Diego campus, and cabs didn't come fast, so often people were scuttling to get into panels, and walking in late. The atmosphere was relaxed for a campus, and I was surprised to discover that the students could even drink alcohol upstairs at one of the university buildings. Lots of flyers about interesting classes in the lit building invited attention. People were casually dressed, but with some prominent gender bending theatrical costumes some folks wore, with wigs, and make up and such, that I appreciated very much.

I was excited to see some of my favorite literary folks there, such as Debra DiBlasi of Jaded Ibis. She teamed up for the first panel in the morning, discussing ways to break fiction's future, with Lance Olsen, who is as expert on innovative writing, having written multiple books on the subject, who recursively into world of literature, the vivid David Schneiderman, who is co-director of &Now Books, and Civil Coping Mechanisms author, Yuriy Tarnawsky. c. vance claimed to feel out of place at the panel rather than being at a drunken reading; the panel was cerebral, meta, and his presentation added a refreshing spice.

I watched a very professional presentation of the 2nd Electronic Literature Collection, which includes 63 unique pieces of digital "writing" which are generative, hypertext, interactive, gamey kinetic treasures from 14 countries. This was fascinating, and this has always been an interest of mine. I decided for awhile I wanted to add a section to Exclusive Magazine for that kind of material, maybe get an editor to help with that, someone tech savvy.

I didn't see any mention of using recycled paper, or hemp paper for books in the panels I attended. I saw a lot of emphasis on electronics, high tech. Not earth, mud, dirt, anything that felt grounding to me, other than in a panel discussion about rituals of writing, which I was very glad to see was part of it. Danielle Vogel showed us how she formed little clay containers for her "failed" stories. She invited the audience up to touch them. This was graceful, beautiful, divine, to me. It filled my heart.

I went to a panel on manifestos, with writers such as Gene Tantra, which I enjoyed. I didn't enjoy Vanessa Place, however, and there were others who expressed similar reactions to her harshness. I'm sure others enjoyed her greatly, however. She was a grand lady of the event. The next panel she was on, though it was probably the one I would have enjoyed most, I didn't go to. She said that if people walk out while she's reading, that means people discovered that something else is more meaningful to them than readings. However, I think it might sometimes have to do with the specific person reading.

I spent the time of that panel lying on the earth, reading an excellent little book I bought at the bookstore at the festival, by one of the participants, Tim Horvath. And closing my eyes and just being. Looking at the trees, saying Hi to them. Breathing.

A panel about shadows had fascinating presentations by authors Kane Faucher, who wasn't there to accompany his, Tim Horvath, and Larry Reed Shadow Light Productions, a shadow puppet show. This was all like a lovely dream I would love to revisit on many planes.

The next presentation I saw was so marred by sloppiness I'll spare mentioning it.

The Les Figues Press reading made me smile, as the publisher was so proud of everyone, and did such a good job promoting them. The writers expressed their enthusiasm to be part of it. Jen Calkin's story I particularly admired.

The Mad Science of Narrative: Temporal Horizons and Neurological Transcendence spoke to me strongly, as they discussed topics such as the scissoring up of the linear such as in novels by Claude Simon. Janice Lee, Joseph Milazzo, Laura Vena, and Jon Wagner all had me on the edge of my seat.

Best Beasts Forever panel filled my heart when Jennifer Calkins spoke about quail, and this, like the clay, filled my heart. I came to crave that feeling of true nature, being close to the earth in some way that wasn't about the insides of buildings, human voices, papers shuffling, walking on concrete, eating food shipped in from somewhere or another. I had been looking forward to her presentation, and I wasn't disappointed. It learned from it.

A Queerer Tomorrow performance with Misophonic and Our Lady J and her Gospel for the Godless was fabulous music. I loved it, and the crowd seemed enthusiastic for the end of a long day. This provided the animal part of life again, to help us embody ourselves.

I enjoyed meeting writers, editors, and publishers there, some of whom I'd interacted with often online. I had the delight of talking with the charming brothers Grandbois who seem to care about each other very sweetly, the hearty Echkard Gerdes, Harvey Thomlinson all the way from Hong Kong for his publishing company, Make-Do, and other people I may never see again. The chance to talk about the subject of innovative fiction with potentially 200 other people who are also passionate about it was thrilling. I loved getting to hear what they had to say at a situation like that, on the topic of progressing in literature.

The panel of Jaded Ibis authors was not something I could miss, with the elegant Roxanne Carter, whose book is coming out soon, John Dermot Woods, c. vance, Christopher Grimes, and Janice Lee, author of the philosophical book Daughter, about a woman encountering an octopus dead on the desert, maybe a god of some kind. Doug Rice was not able to be there. The panel was instructive about the press itself. I appreciated Debra's desire to publish hybrid works by writers that couldn't be pulled off at other places very easily. We heard the music created for their books, and heard the stories behind that, seeing how the mixing of media and personalities bought out the multi-delightful creations.

Spectacular Astonishment didn't live up to its name for me, until the entertaining Davis Shneiderman's lively commentary through action. He pulled in people from the audience to participate in some almost surrealist games of chase and hide and creativity, and fire. This was athletic improv, and anything could happen. It did. Knees and laps were involved. Definitely one of the most memorable parts of the trip.

The New Media and Collaborative Performances was interesting, but seemed kind of academic-incestuous to me. By this point, I had had enough of technology at one time, of rarefied non narrative, of meta, and even gimmicky experimentation. I didn't want to put in a new section of my magazine. I didn't really so much want to show new ways of being avant garde. I didn't want to hear more than one person saying nonsense at the same time, staring ahead, any more. I wanted to go outside and lie on the grass, and hold onto the rock statue of the bear in the courtyard, and pet the earth. I wanted simple stories, dirt, paper, narrative about the trees, animals. My body hurt, sitting on the chairs all day long. I couldn't get the internet to work at the Sheraton. The magnetic keys never worked once, even though I don't use a cell phone, and kept it away from my debit card. Too much hard straight lines, buildings. I took pictures of everything. My camera ate them and spit them up.

The JEF and CCM reading was missing James Hugunin, who was substituted for by Ulysses Gerdes reading from his book, which was not innovative or literary fiction, but was similar to gaming, which Debra DiBlasi had talked about at the beginning as being related to the topic at hand. The experimental, rather male-fiction writer Eckhard is a giant of the avant-garde publishing field, who has been involved in putting out some of the best writing to be found. I've been enjoying reading Yuriy Tarnawsky's recently released book of stories.

The ending performance included the Black Took Collective, Cathy Gere, and originator of the event, Steve Tomasula, with a visual presentation of his elaborately technically constructed work, TOC, on the large screen, projected from the DVD.

Personally, I thought the idea of it being forward thinking seemed contradicted by the plastic water bottles and cups set out for us, and the chemical food. I thought it was nice that was there for people who wanted it, and I just avoided it all, by bringing a glass from my room and filing it up in the bathroom. I may have missed mention of sustainability, but I didn't hear any mention of the fact that our planet may not be a reasonable enough place for people to be reading books very long, due to human causes, including plastic and chemicals.

The Innovation in a Box didn't work out quite as they had planned, as participants were told the short performances would be screened throughout the event. However, this was left to the panelists to do on their own, and it didn't happen. Finally, a screen was erected in the lobby of one of the buildings, near registration, and they were shown there. However, the volume was too low to hear most of the time, and everyone was of course talking, so I had to wait til later to see them, when they were posted on YouTube. It was indeed an interesting part of the event, and I was glad to do one, myself. It turned out it wasn't really a box, so it didn't exactly fit my theme of a confessional booth, but it was fun.

The festival was a bit surreal for me, because I wasn't able to sleep at all the first night, and little the other nights, due to sharing the hotel room with three writers, quiet as they were. My brain runs with that chance to make floors unsteady, and make me life-dislexic, such as talking to the person standing next to the one I meant to talk to. Very odd world, it is.

The next one is coming up soon in Paris, and then the 2 year schedule resumes, with it being held at a location as yet to be announced. I'd recommend going to it, for anyone considering it, if you can manage the expenses. The festival itself is inexpensive for what it is, only 100 dollars. And submissions and nominations are open for the &Now anthology as well. How lucky I am to live in a world in which a event like this is possible.

I read, along with several others, in Tihuana, at El Grafeografo, Pasaje Rodriguez at the book store, an event coordinated by Jen Hofer and John Pluecker. For this, I wore my red tutu and shirt full of stories and mirrors, and striped tights!

Immediately upon going across the border, things were different. Toilets don't have seats, or maintenance. Everything i more colorful, peeling, surprising, exotic to me. Some of the readings were in Spanish, others in English, some going back and forth between both. One man crawled out wearing a ski mask, his tongue lolling out. He carried a bunch of newspapers put together into a long mass, which he used in various ways, such as impersonating wings. He set it out on the floor and stood over it, as if he were going to urinate on it. I prepared myself, as he unzipped his pants and reached in. He brought out his poem.

One man joined the group, a sweet old character who sells newspapers. I didn't know he was just telling well known facts about the pictures he was pointing to from one. He was finally asked to leave, as he went over the allotted time. Afterwards, he looked despondent I bought the magazine he was offering for a dollar, for 5. I have no idea what it says. But I can make up something magical.

What happened in the next days after this, in my spontaneous Mexico time, I'll leave for my short story.

The official book of the festival Reviewed

_At the &Now Festival of New Writing, in San Diego, I picked up a
copy of the official book that accompanies it, edited by Robert
Archambeau, Davis Schneiderman, and Steve Tomasula. The cover features a
skull, and the orange and black colors seem fitting for the time of
year, and also the time of the world, in which decay and death of the
old world seems likely. I suppose they mean to also imply that the end
of the old worldview is ending, and new works may begin something new.
Is there really anything new on a dying planet? What is the final
conclusion in this apocalyptic rebirth of new out of the old which has
had its day? Fruits arise out of the skull lusciously, festively,
against the nihilism of images all around it, in the striking darkness.